


Ten Minutes

by Arbryna



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x04. Tamsin takes Dyson out on the town, and enlists his help in scratching a certain itch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes

1:19 am

 

Tamsin has to admit, Dyson can get down pretty well for a Light Fae. She took him to her favorite biker bar—human, naturally; she's not about to bring shit down on herself for bringing Light Fae onto Dark territory—and he's been matching her shot for shot, though he seems to have a preference for whisky. 

She's all about vodka, when she gets the choice. Why bother with frills like spices and oak-y undertones when all you're really after is getting mind-numbingly plastered? 

True to his word, Dyson hasn't mentioned Bo all evening; it's all been reminiscing about centuries past, long before that pain-in-the-ass succubus was even a glimmer in her mama's eye. Turns out, Dyson's gotten up to some pretty impressive shit in his day. Who knew such a badass lurked underneath that law-abiding, do-gooder exterior?

This assignment is still bullshit, and she still doesn't appreciate having to play nice with the Light, but all things considered, it could be worse. At least she's got something pretty to look at all day.

Dyson downs his next shot, giving a feral little growl as it burns its way down his throat. Drunk as she is, Tamsin finds her eyes drifting to the bob of his throat as he swallows, to the way his shirt gapes open to expose a hint of toned muscle and sparse chest hair. 

Damn. Drinking always makes Tamsin itch for a good fight or a good fuck, and she's had about enough of the fighting for one day. The rakshasa ended up going down pretty easily, but the constant verbal sparring with Bo—then having to _cooperate_ with her, for fuck's sake—makes her feel like she's gone a few rounds with a goddamn ogre. 

That leaves one option—and the more Tamsin thinks about it, the longer she stares, the more appealing that option becomes. 

 

***

1:22 am

 

Dyson doesn't offer a word of protest as she shoves him into the bar's empty management office. Of course, that could be due to her keeping his mouth otherwise occupied. He kisses like a wolf, all teeth and snarls, and his beard scratches against her chin as she works her tongue into his mouth. 

She shoves him back against the desk, flips the lock on the door behind her. Quickly shrugging out of her leather jacket, she tosses it aside as she stalks toward him. A satisfied smirk plays at her lips as she takes in his dazed expression. 

"You know this isn't strictly allowed," Dyson says as Tamsin's fingers slip under his waistband and tug. 

Tamsin lifts an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I'm not too good at doing what I'm told." That whole "No Dark/Light Fraternization" rule is bullshit anyway. She pops the button on his jeans, leans forward to nip at his earlobe. "Just close your eyes and pretend it's La Shoshain." 

His hands close around hers before she can pull his zipper down. "You should know," he says, and his voice is so goddamn serious all of a sudden that it's _thisclose_ to killing her buzz. "I'm not over Bo." 

The force with which Tamsin rolls her eyes can hardly be measured. Pulling back, she attacks his lips again, sinking her teeth into the bottom one and tugging. "Thought you said you weren't gonna talk about her tonight," she says, breathing hot into his mouth. She shakes off his hands, yanks his fly open. "Besides," she continues with a sly grin, sliding one hand inside to close around him, "if you're still so hung up on her, why are you getting hard for me?" 

Dyson grunts, jerks into her hand, and Tamsin knows she's won. She pushes his pants down around his hips with her free hand, stroking him determinedly with the other. It takes three or four strokes—a matter of seconds—before his own hands grasp at her thighs and she finds herself being lifted off the ground and deposited onto the desk. 

He fumbles with the button of her jeans, and she's all too eager to help him out. He tugs them down to her knees, along with her underwear, and Tamsin is already anticipating how he's going to feel filling her up when he stops. 

"What's wrong?" Tamsin practically growls.

"I don't have a condom," Dyson admits, his thumbs brushing teasingly along the crease of her thighs. 

Tamsin rolls her eyes. "You're clean, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Well so am I. We good?" 

He hesitates. "What about pregnancy?" 

"Trust me," Tamsin snorts, somewhat bitterly. "That is not gonna be an issue." And damn him for making her think about serious shit like life cycles and dying at a time like this. She wraps her hand around him again, tugging him closer by his cock. He seems to be satisfied with her answer, because he wastes no time in thrusting forward as she guides him inside. 

She's not quite wet enough, but that's fine by her—she likes it to hurt a little. And oh, does it hurt good—that burn of friction as he sinks into her is like a strong shot of vodka, hot and stinging and making every nerve ending feel alive. Her fingers claw at his shoulders as she grinds down onto him, working fast and hard. Taking it slow is for wimps—when you know what you want, what's the point of waiting?

It's not long at all before sweat is dripping down her face, trickling in between her breasts, and she's clenching harder and harder with each thrust. She keeps one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and lowers the other one between her legs, rubbing quick circles into her clit. It's all she needs to push herself over the edge, coming with a satisfied grunt. 

Dyson lets out a strangled groan and starts to pump into her faster, his fingers digging into her hips. It thankfully only takes a short time for him to tense and shudder against her, and she can feel his release seeping slowly down the inside of her thighs. 

Tamsin pushes him away and hops off of the desk, savoring the way she clenches around the empty space where his cock used to be. Damn, she needed that. She reaches down to pull her pants back up, deftly rebuttons them. 

"You're certainly efficient," Dyson remarks, turning to lean heavily against the desk. It seems he's not as quick to recover.

"Told ya," Tamsin says, plucking her jacket off of the floor with one hooked finger. Her eyes flick to the clock, and a smirk grows on her lips as the minute hand clicks over to one-thirty. "Girl only needs ten minutes."


End file.
